Manifest Destiny
by Mendeia
Summary: Oneshot. Today was the greatest test Syaoran had yet faced, and Li Yelan knew it would likely define the rest of his life in subtle, and unimaginable, ways.


It's been a while since I dabbled in this fandom, but I've been returning to it a lot lately. I also just watched all the way through _Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicle_, so, yeah. I have discovered I really like working from Syaoran's perspective, so I decided to do a little background piece for him, even though it turned out not to be from his perspective at all. The muse had her own ideas. Anyway, I humbly offer this little story to any who have wondered about Syaoran as a child, and more importantly, his mysterious mother.

I do not own CCS in any way – these are owned by CLAMP and I intend no offense at borrowing their characters. This is purely for my own entertainment.

Enjoy!

* * *

"Syaoran, when you have finished your morning exercises, I require you to attend me," she announced without fanfare over breakfast. To her slight dismay, her four daughters all gasped in surprise and twittered at each other like eager songbirds. Wei, to her eternal comfort, calmly poured her tea without batting so much as an eye, and yet something in the set of his shoulders told her that he would ensure that Syaoran would not be overly-exhausted by his teacher this morning.

"Yes, Mother," her only son replied gravely, none of the unnecessary emotion of his sisters in his demeanor. Li Yelan acknowledged his words with a smooth nod before returning to her meal, her keen eyes still on her children though downcast. Her daughters were all lovely as lilies, and they all had gentle manners and good taste, but they seemed little able to focus their pretty heads on many things beyond themselves. In this way, they had very much taken after their aunt and her daughter, their cousin Meilin.

But Syaoran, the only male in a house full of women, carried himself as befitted the heir to the Li clan's estate and affairs. He had been blessed with his father's robust nature and strength, but also with his mother's gift for sorcery. Of all her children, it was only the youngest who had inherited the Li heritage for magic, for which Yelan was eternally grateful – teaching any one of her daughters would have been unpleasant, though necessary. Magic in the Li blood was strong, such that any born so gifted must study long and well to command it appropriately.

"Syaoran-sama, when you are ready," Wei politely invited the boy to finish eating. At once Syaoran rose from his place, bowing slightly to his mother, before following the tall man from the room. After they had departed, the girls were dismissed to their own studies – mostly painting and music, as they kept their fingers busy and their minds from unrefined topics – and their mother retreated to her gardens.

As Yelan drew out her fan, she hid a tiny smile. Though no one had made mention of it, today was Syaoran's birthday. For all that he already behaved like a man, the boy was in fact only seven as of today; he had taken his mother's example of self-discipline and control to heart from the moment of his birth. But then, he had been different from his sisters in many ways from birth as well. The day the fortune-teller announced to the Li clan that an heir was finally waiting within the womb of the young mother, male and magically gifted as well, the clan had been relieved. Their legacy was safe.

But his mother had begun, from that moment, to prepare herself and her son for his duties to come. While yet unborn, Yelan sang softly to him, songs of soothing calm and a trickle of magic, so that his entrance to the world was neither sudden nor jarring, for already his tiny mind was prepared for the change. The very day Syaoran had learned to walk he had begun his training in martial arts, so that every aspect of his development was bound inextricably to his gifts and duties. And yet, for the whole of his youth, his mother strove to keep the boy peaceful inside. She had known too many warriors to become shells of men, no longer feeling, no longer whole, no longer capable of love or joy or loyalty that springs from affection rather than honor. Though she reinforced his lessons of the latter, she sang to him of the former while he slept, weaving them silently in his heart for him to find as he chose.

And he had so chosen several times. Though his older sisters were dreadfully trying to their mother, doubly so to a younger brother, he endured them with refined patience. Syaoran had also taken an unexpected liking to his cousin Meilin, even accepting her as a partner in their martial arts training, an allowance he had never permitted his sisters. And only a few weeks prior, Syaoran had run himself cold in the rain to retrieve Meilin's little bird, a gift from Yelan herself, for no reason at all except his kind heart. It was a relief to his mother, not that the bird was found, but that her son carried within him, besides all the potential of the Li heritage, a very gentle heart.

But today was no day to embrace his emotional nature. Today was the greatest test the boy had yet faced, and while it could not and would not cause him harm, it would likely define his life in subtle ways. In the back of the garden was a small shrine within a gazebo, isolated from the rest by the little stream that bubbled cheerfully around. Here, Yelan waited for Syaoran to arrive.

She knew he was near before his silent steps alerted her; she could feel her son's life-force beating alongside her own. Little would her son ever know how much she watched him, held him, when he was not aware; her place in his life was to make him the man he could become. But her place when he slept, while he dreamed, was her own to define, and so she did.

"Syaoran," she spoke his name with almost no inflection. The boy immediately straightened his shoulders and stood waiting. "Enter the shrine, Syaoran." Without a word, he did as told. When he was standing directly in the center of the gazebo, facing the shrine, she rose from her place and turned to him.

"Today is your seventh birthday, my son. Seven is an important number of years upon the earth, and it is today we will see if you are yet ready to embrace your natural abilities," she began. From a fold in her sleeve she brought out a round disk hanging from a red tassel. Yelan stifled the breath that tried to escape as she finally passed the object that had been her husband's, and was now her son's, to its rightful owner. She took Syaoran's right hand and folded his fingers around the string so that it hung out from his body. To his credit, though his brown eyes registered a little confusion and some curiosity, he remained silent.

"Magic comes to a very few, Syaoran, and it has come to you. There are many ways to command your powers, from the simplest act of breathing to a ritual requiring a year and a day of preparation. Starting today, you will begin to study these secrets of sorcery taught to our family by the magician Clow Reed. But you must have a focus for your magic, one your powers will choose for you."

Circling around him, she moved until she stood behind him, just outside the magic circle formed by the shrine and gazebo.

"Hold out your hand and be still, my son," Yelan said softly, and if Syaoran heard more warmth in her voice than usual, he made no sign, obeying without thought. She lowered her fan, flipping it expertly and feeling her own magic rush through her.

"Imperial king of gods,

Your divinity watches over the four corners

Metal, wood, water, fire, earth,

Thunder, wind, lightning,

Choose your form for one who commands you!"

A bright blue light encased the little shrine, its energy humming merrily. Yelan closed her eyes and waited. The powers of the Li clan were great, and it was her right as mother to the heir to invoke them on behalf of her son until he was of age. Though she could certainly have selected a focus for him, a bow, perhaps, or a wand, by allowing the magic itself to choose, the bond between man and magic would be significantly stronger. Additionally, whatever form the magic chose for Syaoran would tell her much of what lay deep in his heart and what was yet written in the stars of his future.

The light paled, then winked out all at once, leaving a smell of wind and lightning in its wake. Syaoran remained exactly where she had left him, though his head was turned down to whatever lay in his hands. Yelan lifted her fan and spoke, keeping her interest from her tone.

"Turn and show me the shape of your magic, Syaoran."

With a childlike wonder that seemed out of place on his usually serious face, the boy turned slowly, holding up his right hand. The disk and red tassel remained, but now they dangled from the hilt of a perfect Chinese jian. It was sized for the boy – Yelan had no doubt the blade would grow with her son, always precisely fitted to his needs. Even in the shade of the gazebo, she could see its keen edges glint, and she knew well that it would never need to be sharpened or repaired; should it shatter, it would reform when Syaoran's magic was again strong.

She gave him a tiny smile, and the boy smiled in return.

"This is your sword now, Syaoran. Wei will teach you to use it with your martial arts, but I shall begin your instruction in magic. The sword will be such that it will hide itself within this medallion until you summon it. It will work magic with you, and strike your enemies with great force, and it will answer only to your call. This is a great honor, my son."

"Yes, Mother," he replied, again mastering his emotions and keeping his face controlled even while his eyes blazed with pride and interest. It was such a look of boy and man, of youth and strength, gentleness and ferocity, that it went straight to Yelan's heart. She opened her arms and kneeled, and Syaoran stepped into the embrace. For one heartbeat, she held him as any mother would hold a seven-year-old, all her heart beating furiously against the discipline of their duties. And he held her tightly, his own boyish affection suddenly filling his whole body.

Then the moment was broken. Yelan released her son gracefully and rose, drawing her fan to the level of her eyes to hide a sudden wetness. Syaoran instantly resumed his strict posture, his eyes once again focused. But there was a knowing smile behind both gazes, a thudding in both hearts, that lasted far longer than the single moment when feelings were permitted to escape their honor-bound cages.

"Very well, Syaoran. As you have no further morning instruction, let us begin by practicing summoning and dismissing your blade…"


End file.
